


The Stone Man

by ThatAnnoyingBella



Series: Grow Old Together, We Do [4]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Origin Story, Pet Names, Urban Magic Yogs, gargoyle!Ross, kelpie!smith, selkie!Trott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11752449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAnnoyingBella/pseuds/ThatAnnoyingBella
Summary: When Smith met Ross.





	1. Horsey

**Author's Note:**

> Little idea I had. I wanted to play with Ross's character, and this is the only bit I feel comfortable with posting atm. I have a lot drafted, but the dialogue needs to be seriously taken to with a sledge hammer and chainsaw, 'cause, oh my god it's a lot.
> 
> Still not entirely happy with this (odd style, for me), but I don't think I could make it any better by ripping it to bits again. HERE YOU GO

They turned his church into an office building. Men had come, destroyed his beloved church, cleaned up every trace of its existence, then built on the ground just a few minutes walk away from the graveyard a garish building, with straight lines and shiny blacked-out windows. It was so modern, so new.

The gargoyle had never seen a building like this one up close. He’d never left the church grounds, and the church was on the outskirts of the city. He could see the city central, but the only houses he could really admire where the plain one story suburbia houses. Expensive, but not like this.

The gargoyle couldn’t leave. He’d tried, many, many years ago. He hadn’t really wanted to leave the church (never!), but the barrier had caused him agony anyway. He wasn’t about the try again. His job was to protect the church, and he would continue to do that. What else could he do? He didn’t know how life worked outside the church.

When the tall man with the ginger beard had showed up, the gargoyle didn’t think much of it. Men came and went often. It was when the man went around the back of the building that he became curious. He watched, hidden in a tree, as the man scuffed the earth with a foot, looked about, then, to his amazement, turned into a small brown horse.

 

The gargoyle had been watching the man come an go for a few weeks. He seemed to like the small pond and bushes behind the church, along with the grass. The gargoyle wasn’t sure why, since most of the people seemed to like plants that were cut just-so, neatly, but he didn’t complain. He enjoyed watching the subtle ripple of muscle under the smooth hair of the horse, and the unrestrained joy of the animal as it kicked up its heels and tossed it’s pretty head. It was childish, utterly fun, and so very different to the people who came to the office building.

He was growing more confident and relaxed in the presence of him, having not been noticed. He sat in the same tree as he always did, since the church was destroyed. The air was crisp and cold, but the sun warm on his stone back.  
The horse jumped into the air, all four compact little hooves off the ground, before it struck out, neck arched like a snake’s, with a front leg. The horse then threw itself to the ground, rolling around in the grass in the least graceful way possible.

The gargoyle laughed. He had never done it before, but he knew what it meant. The people who came by the church often laughed when they were happy, or amused. The office people didn’t do it much. Maybe that was why the horse froze. The horse rocked back onto it’s chest, laying in the grass, and pricked its ears. It looked in the gargoyle’s direction, and, in a panic, the gargoyle’s camouflaging magic stuttered. The horse’s head flicked towards him, but the gargoyle had already disappeared.

 

It was a few days before the man came back. After he’d run away in his horse form, the gargoyle had assumed that he’d been frightened off, and was pleasantly surprised when the man strode confidently onto the grass surrounding the office building. It was even more surprising when the man walked right up to the tree that the gargoyle sat in. 

He peered up into the tree, and called, “Oi! You up there?”

The gargoyle shifted nervously, and the branch shook violently. 

This made the man smile, “Invisible, hey? Fair enough.” The man sat with his back against the tree, and the gargoyle found himself envious of the fearlessness of this strange creature. The man began to speak, “So, I dunno what you are, mate, but you clearly aren’t human. You aren’t from Kirin’s court, that’s for sure, so I suppose you’re rogue. Is that why you’re hiding?”

The gargoyle was silent.

“Well. Anyway, I’m Smith. I, uh, dunno if you saw me here the other day, but yeah, I’m a kelpie. Means I can turn into a horse. Pretty cool, right?” The man looked up at the gargoyle, and then away again, fiddling with a key chain. When he spoke again, it was much softer, “I’m probably talking to myself here. Fucking imagining things.”

The gargoyle hesitated, then plucked a nut from the tree and dropped it onto Smith’s head. He wanted him to keep talking. It was a long time since somebody spoke to the gargoyle, even if they didn’t know what he was.

“Ow!” Smith’s hands came up to his head, and he looked down at the nut, before looking back up at the gargoyle, “You could’ve just said ‘hi!’”


	2. The Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gargoyle gets a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT MY FINGERS WHIP ACROSS THE KEYBOARD! Two updates in like, an hour! Maybe two. Shut up.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“Troooooooott.”

Trott rolled his eyes. “What, sunshine?” He lowered the newspaper in his hand, peering over the kitchen island into the living room, where Smith lay pathetically draped over the couch, one hand loosely clutching the TV remote, and the other wedged knuckles-deep in the top of a Pringles can.

“The Rock needs a name. Also,” Smith lifted the hand that was stuck in the Pringles can, frowning dramatically. The gargoyle in question smirked at the name, his glass tail twitching, the barb directly in Trott's sights as it hovered dangerously close to the edge of the couch.

“Oi. Tail. And Smith, stop calling him that. The Rock is tough, Rainbows and Lollypops over here wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

The gargoyle sat up, the floorboards creaking in protest, and fluttered his wings indignantly. “I don’t like The Rock because he’s tough, I like him because he’s got a really cute smile.”

Trott shook his head, bemused. “Does he?”

Before Ross could answer, Smith yelled, “Fuck!” He’d pulled his hand free of the Pringles can, but now there were crumbs and small pieces of Pringle everywhere. “Oh, shit. Dammit!”

Trott stood up, bending down and retrieving a pan and brush from underneath the sink before bringing it to Smith, brushing crumbs from his boyfriend’s belly, thinking about how domestic and ridiculous it was all the time. Eventually, they managed to get back to the topic at hand.

Smith stretched, saying, “I’m thinking that he’s a Colin.” Trott snorted.

The gargoyle glared, and Smith jokingly hastened to alter his choice. “Okay, okay, how about Frrrrrrrr… Ed,” Smith finished.

Trott smiled in the condescending way of an adult around children, and walked back to the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder, “Well, I’m thinking that we name him after someone. What about your grandma’s boy?” 

Smith frowned. “You mean my Uncle?”

“Yeah, that one,” Trott laughed. “Sure. What’s his name again?”

The gargoyle held up a hand in alarm. “Woah, woah, woah, you’re naming me after someone and you can’t even remember their name?”

Smith kicked out a foot and rubbed it against the gargoyle’s horn, where it was angrily swatted away. Smith withheld a chuckle. The gargoyle hated it when Smith did that. Trott had pulled up his paper again.

“Well, I don’t know him that well, but he did something that people thought was pretty good. I dunno, saved some people from a fire. I tuned out, sorry, sunshine.”

Smith closed his eyes, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah. ‘Seven people from a burning building.’ I heard all about it, even if you didn’t, Trott. End of days. Only good thing was that the brought his dog with him. Remember? Cute little thing. Bit nippy, though. It took a bite out of Dad, it was hilarious.”

Hearing the word ‘dog,’ the gargoyle at Smith’s feet sat up straighter. “What was the dog’s name?” 

“Uh, Rob, or something. Ross. That’s it.”

“Ross.”

“Yeah.” Smith was falling asleep, mumbling his words.

“Can I be called Ross?” The gargoyle asked the question so innocently that Trott felt a little guilty for his loud exhale of laughter. His wide blue eyes turned to look at him, like an owl’s. Trott knew that the gargoyle saw him as the head of the house and wanted his approval before he did anything, so he tried to be a good example.

“You want to be named after a dog?”

The gargoyle shrugged, then said, “I like dogs.”

“Okay, then. Ross it is.” Trott’s smile was warm, and when Smith’s foot touched him again, it was on his back, and much gentler.

“Ross is nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to Ross' origin story. It will be a little sad, more encompassing.  
> Let me know what you think!


	3. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross and Smith remember when Ross was still an insecure protector of churches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly what I had planned, but I'm happy with it. I really love writing Ross, I whipped through this one. Enjoy!

Ross was sitting in the living room hovering over the coffee table, his stone hands poking two tiny tools into a bottle, which held a nearly complete, and absolutely stunning model of a ship. He was completely naked, as he usually was when inside the apartment, and Smith was laying on the couch behind him, openly staring at the gargoyle’s ass.

“Hey, Ross.” Smith sounded wistful, and Ross turned, delicately extracting and lowering his tools from the bottle.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember when I gave you the apple?”

How could Ross forget? It was the day that Smith had invited him to live with him and Trott, that Trott had told Smith that Ross wasn’t a puppy, and that Ross had finally realised that he could leave his church. The apple was certainly a highlight, though.

 

For the fourth time, the gargoyle watched Smith walk up to the base of the tree. Today, he had a bag with him. He looked excited.

“Hey! Tree-bro! Guess what?” Smith grinned wildly, and the gargoyle felt a flutter in his stomach. Smith shook the bag, saying, “I brought food for you. I’ve got all sorts. Not really sure what you are or what you like, but unless you’re a vampire and you only drink blood, you’ll probably like something in here.

“I’ve got a sandwich, an apple, uh, some corned beef?” Smith was standing just below the gargoyle now, expectantly looking up. “Oh, yeah, fuck, you don’t talk. Okay, well, I’ll pass stuff up to you, yeah..? Um, how about this?”

The gargoyle was stunned. Here was this man, offering him food. A round, red and yellow fruit. An apple. The gargoyle had never been given food before. He reached out, his large clawed fingers grabbing the fruit. Smith seemed surprised by the strength of his snatching, and the gargoyle mused that he ought to have been gentler. Although, it might have just been that Smith had never felt any physical sign of the (thus invisible) gargoyle before.

He looked at the apple. It was so perfectly round and smooth, except for the top and bottom, where it had a rough part, and a stem. It was shiny. The gargoyle tried to figure out how to eat the fruit. Did he just bite into it? He had seen people do that before. He tried to copy the motion, choosing the dark red side to bite in to.

The flavour! In his shock, the gargoyle’s magic dropped, as did the apple. Distantly, he heard Smith gasp. The gargoyle had never tasted something sweet before. He sometimes licked the salt from his hands, but the solidarity of the apple, and the crunch, and oh, the richness of the flavour! It was like nothing the gargoyle had ever experienced.

He looked down. Smith was standing now, staring up at him. He seemed to have backed away. The gargoyle jumped down from the tree, and approached. Smith backed away rapidly, but the gargoyle grabbed a hold of his upper arms and held him still. He sniffed at Smith’s face and neck, and furrowed his brow at the fresh scents there. It smelled a little like the candles they used to burn in the church. Flowery.

“More.” His voice was rough and deep, scratchy from lack of use. The gargoyle didn’t have much use for language, with nobody to talk to.

Smith’s eyes were wide, and he shook his head slightly, blinking. “Uh, you only took one bite, so..?” His eyes dropped to somewhere behind the gargoyle and and gargoyle released him, spinning. The apple!

The gargoyle moved quickly, grabbing the apple and climbing back up to his branch. The place where he’d bitten the apple was coated in dirt, but the gargoyle ate it anyway, like a ravenous dog. Smith was watching him in amazement, and the gargoyle tensed as a small smile grew on the face of the handsome man.

“So, you like apples?”

 

Ross had been like a cat at first, Smith remembered. He’d turned up on the patio of their high rise apartment, and from then on, they would open the door for him, and shut it behind him when he left. At least until he learned how to close it himself, and Trott gave him a key. He would curl up on the floor (“OH MY GOD, SMITH! HE’S FUCKING BROKEN THE COUCH!”), and eat anything they offered him, with adorable reactions.

He wasn’t sure, but Smith didn’t think that they’d ever actually told Ross that he could stay. As he remembered it, it had just been a gradual change from Ross spending the day people watching and the night climbing roofs to him hanging out with them instead, and watching over them as they slept. Around three months after Smith had first spoken to Ross, they purchased a bed with a reinforced frame, and around a month after that, they’d bought a second couch for him to sit on.

Ross had been very closed-off with Smith at first, but with Trott, he’d been awkward and tense for a long time. Smith remembered with a pang the day Ross had told him why.

 

Ross nuzzled into Smith’s chest. They were sprawled out on the bed, waiting for Trott to come home from work. Smith’s arm was around Ross’ shoulders, admiring how much smoother and softer the gargoyle had become since starting to live with them when Ross sighed deeply.

“What’s up, Princess?” Smith smiled, waiting for Ross to react to the much-hated name that Trott had come up with, then frowned when Ross spoke.

“I love being here with you.”

Smith’s heart hurt at the emotion in Ross’ voice. He tried to break the tension. “I know, I’m awesome, huh?”

Ross shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “I was so lonely at that church. Then they knocked it down. Everybody was scared of me, or hated me. I gave up trying to talk to people after a while.”

“Ross…” Smith rubbed Ross’ shoulder, unsure how to comfort the gargoyle. His existence sounded so lonely, so unlike Smith’s had ever been.

“I’m glad you like me. Even if Trott doesn’t.”

Smith frowned, craning his neck to look at Ross. “What are you talking about? Trott loves you.”

Ross pulled away from Smith, sitting up. He gazed out of the bedroom window. “I always get in the way, and I broke the couch..”

“Hey, you don’t get in the way. And the couch was ages ago, Trott doesn’t blame you for that. He never did.” Smith reached out, placing a hand on Ross’ shoulder.

“He’s always yelling at me. I don’t mean to be a bother. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I would miss you.” Ross’ eyes welled up with tears, and he looked bleakly at Smith.

Smith wrapped his arms around Ross and spoke firmly, “Oi, you listen to me. Trott loves you, and I love you. You don’t need to leave us. We would miss you, too. And if it helps, he yells at me too. It’s the only way he knows how to show that he cares. He worries, you know. Maybe you should tell him that it upsets you. I’m sure he’d stop.”

Just then, the two boys heard the distinct sound of keys being put into a lock, and the front door opening. They heard Trott speaking quietly, before he called out, “Smith? I thought you were going to watch the Grand Prix?”

Smith squeezed Ross, then called out, “Come here.” 

Trott must have heard the seriousness in Smith’s voice, because he rushed in, taking in the sight of Smith looking over his shoulder, Ross under his arm. “Woah, what happened?” 

“Tell Ross that you don’t hate him.”

Trott froze, then walked over slowly. He crouched in front of Ross, who looked at his feet. “Ross..? You don’t think I hate you, do you?”

Ross cringed. “’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Trott reached out and hugged Ross, ignoring the faint flinch that the gargoyle gave. “Don’t say that. I could never hate you. I’m sorry if I’m a bit rough with you sometimes. I just-” Trott paused, “I’m not good at this.”

Smith spoke up from beside Ross. “It’s okay. We’ll get better, won’t we, Trott?”

Trott nodded solemnly against Ross’ neck, and Ross sniffed. “You’re already good.”

 

From then on, Trott had made a point of praising the gargoyle often. He still sometimes yelled at the gargoyle, but Ross grew used to it, and learned how to tell when Trott was actually angry, versus just playing around, or worried. After that, Ross came out of his shell, making the sorts of jokes and innuendos that Smith did. He never did become as loud as the ginger, and actual anger still caused him great distress, but he was happy.

And now, as Smith watched Ross greet Trott at the door after a long day of work, he felt that everything was as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, Ross with the apple killed me. I know the writing is a bit mediocre, but meh. Whatever. Ross' origin story The Stone Man is now over, although I do plan to come back to WAY WAY before Smith met him, so look forward the that (no promises, though). Tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, and look forward to watching this lonely, closed off gargoyle become a total fluff monster. Aww it's already cute and it's in drafts.


End file.
